Believe what you want. Just don’t bring it to my door on a Sunday morning — unless you were invited — or come bearing gifts. And just to be clear — a sampling of scriptures in ‘The Watchtower’ magazine you leave with me is not considered a gift.

Jamie is Jehovah’s Witness — not that there is anything wrong with that. He has been visiting me on and off for about 5 years now. He blows in like the wind — always with a friend — dressed to the nines in his black suit and tie. Under his arm he keeps his good book. His bible. His truth. I have never invited Jamie in — we seem to have a front porch understanding.

We have talked — at length — about his beliefs, as well as mine, and never could two people be more different. He believes he has the truth. If he doesn’t spread the message of GOD — as he believes it — then he has failed. He’s doomed. I believe religion is personal — that all paths lead to the same destination. I do admire his tenacity though. His relentless willingness to convert me — to instill me with “the truth”. We’ve adopted a sort of fair-weather friendship and sometimes I miss chatting with him when he hasn’t been around.

This past Sunday he came to me with his ‘book’ and quoted to me from the Book of Numbers — an obscure bible passage about a talking donkey. I didn’t quite understand his point but his conviction amused me — so I obliged him with wide-eyed interest. And then it happened. He came to the passage where he quoted, “Why have you beaten your ass these three times?”, and the child in me giggled uncontrollably with a “you said beat-your-ass” maturity. Jamie kept reading — although the veins in his forehead pulsed with his frustration and disapproval.

I’m not certain what keeps him coming back. Am I the ass whose mouth the LORD has opened? Perhaps. I have always thought of myself as a Jack-of-all-trades — the truth may be that I’m the Jack-of-all-asses.